


Amas Veritas

by conchepcion



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Magic, Pratical Magic AU, True Love, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conchepcion/pseuds/conchepcion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She needed to tell him. Practical Magic AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amas Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> When you end up writing a bit of a multi-chapter AU you don't know whether or not you're going to write, but at least writing this satisfies you for the time being so you're like #enjoy. Basically I made a text post of a Practical Magic Au on tumblr and here's a bit of that fervent dream.

_How the faces of love change, turning the pages_

  
_And I have changed, oh but you, you remain ageless_

  
_I turned around and the water was closing all around_

  
_Like a glove, like the love that had finally, finally found me_

 

**_Crystal - Stevie Nicks_ **

 

* * *

A green clover hung on the key-chain still stuck in the ignition, the engine of the car hummed in the background. Lucas had given her the clover as a silly joke between the pair of them, which underlined how much he had truly believed in the rumours that had followed her around most of her life, up until she'd met him. She'd taken his name for a reason, the first of the Adler women to do so, but she thought the curse could never touch him.

 

She'd let herself forget the sheer possibility, until one night she'd woken up to the sound of the beetle's chirp. It was then, after years of pretending magic wasn't real, the creature had plagued her with its warning - - almost every plank of their bedroom floor uprooted - - but she still couldn't stop it from happening. The aunts wouldn't help her, and how she'd hated them for it, but now she knew why.

 

There was a reason she was sat in the car in front of the bed and breakfast with its pristine hedges, the engine still going.

 

Molly finally silenced the engine; she took a deep breath steeling herself. She'd been asking herself repeatedly  _why_  she was there, why she needed to be there, why he of all people needed to know the truth, but all of it had become so obvious when Lily had pointed it out to her yesterday morning. Irene had been very frustrated with how funny she was being, and she couldn't agree more herself, at least she now knew why.

 

But she really needed to tell Sher -  _Mr Holmes_  about everything, so she could finally feel some relief. She knew he wouldn't understand, despite all those rumours he'd heard around the village. He thought those existed because of paranoid and imaginative housewives stuck indoors all day, only going outside to tend to their neat gardens (she'd never get over that  _compliment)._

 

No, she wasn't ordinary.

 

She wished she were ordinary.

 

She wished her aunts had never given her Lucas, but they never expected her to care for him. Molly had never wished to care for anyone, unlike Irene who was in and out of love so often she'd lost count. She never begrudged her sister for her free spirit or her sense of adventure, leaving home so early on, not wanting to end up like an old maid stuck in the same place, though Molly knew it was impossible for Irene to even come close to such a thing.

 

And then, Irene had been sharing so much about this  _Jim_  - wonderful - wonderful Jim - who hadn't turned out to be so amazing after all. Despite herself, Molly felt both happy and horrified for whom her sister wound up picking, without Jim she'd have met  _him_.

 

He would never have found her, and even if she knew it would have been better if they'd never met, if she continued thinking he never existed, like she always thought, she couldn't imagine that world anymore. It was Lily who'd cracked first, her light whispered words against her bare arm, her guilty brown eyes looking up at her - "Mum, isn't he your  _true love_?" She knew then that her daughter wasn't talking of the wishy-washy cartoon version, but the one she'd thought wishing for would make it never happen. She'd been a child, and she'd not known the effects of what she was doing, which was so typical, their aunts letting them get away with everything, in turn made her scared of everything.

 

She remembered standing in the dark, plucking at the petals and dropping them into her basket.  _"He'll have a funny name," she said earnestly. "And he'll-,"_

 

_"_ _Consult!" Irene chimed in, though from her expression alone Molly knew she had no idea what she'd just said, wrinkling her nose in after thought._

 

_Molly threw her a shrewd look, intending to correct her until she wound up saying - "No, he'll - oh - wait - he'll be a consulting detective!" She turned her nose up in the air rather proudly, plucking another petal and dropping it in the basket. "And very proud over that."_

 

_"_ _But there's no such thing!"_

 

 _"_ _...He'll be the only one in the world... Not that it matters. He's make-believe Irene. I can't get hurt if he doesn't exist."_ She thought she'd been building a dream ' _eyes that can change colour and that always tell the truth'_  - all fanciful qualities, but which he despite her denial owed.

 

It scared her.

 

Ever since he'd appeared she'd been acting  _funny_ , like she couldn't tell a lie around him, and like she hadn't wanted to either. Molly was tempted to turn on the engine again and drive away, before taking her kids elsewhere, pretending like none of it had happened, like Irene had never asked her to help with Jim, like she'd never given him belladonna and they'd not brought him back to life.

 

But all of those wrong decisions had brought her  _there._

 

She snatched the keys out of the ignition and started out of the car, half her body was out when she saw him,  _observant_ , like she'd wanted him to be. His dark curly hair was rather windswept and the collar of his coat was up, but his eyes once more, betrayed him like always, he looked positively nervous. She bit her lip hesitating by the open car door, before she finally locked it shut.

 

"Hello," she said annoyed that she still felt flushed at the sight of him. "...I need to talk to you," she said clearing her throat, and dropping her keys into the pocket of her jacket. His face didn't betray anything, except a light twitch, he hadn't been expecting her, yet he had all the same. "About Jim Moriarty," she added as if it wasn't obvious enough. "You were right... I was with him on the night he disappeared."

 

"And your sister?" he asked, but his eyes were drawn to the road instead, like he couldn't bear looking at her.

 

"Could we do this in private?" she said fidgeting before him, her stomach twirling and churning and dancing when his eyes were drawn back to her face, those hues that seemed almost  _impossible_. She wished for all the strength in the world, evoking what little power she had from the earth, wishing it would give her the strength to follow through. She was better than this, stronger, harder, as the years had moulded her. But he made her feel young again - hopeful and honest, like she used to be, the innocence she thought had been long lost.

 

"Yes, of course," he mumbled, eyes on the bed and breakfast, and she immediately regrets coming. They'd be  _alone_. They'd not been alone before, either the girls, or Irene were there, but now it would only be the two of them. She shouldn't have worn a dress, nor did she hope he noticed how different she looked altogether, even if her girls noticed, Aurora pointing out that she looked  _younger_.

 

She was glad when he begun leading the way, even if it was up to his room, and they'd have to go past Mrs Meyer's. The owner of the bed and breakfast wasn't particularly fond of her, and she knew that the most of the village were bound to know she was  _there_  of all places visiting someone who'd presented himself as a policeman when he'd first appeared, or well, to everyone else he was still police. She'd known from the beginning he wasn't, which she couldn't help blurting out, her sister Irene soon questioning his reasoning for being there, until Jim's name was let out to their agony.

 

"Be careful, Mrs Meyer's. Your eyes might pop out from all the  _magic_ ," said Sherlock as they walked past her information desk, the old woman soon shuffling off to her back office, looking wide-eyed and offended.

 

"Everyone will know, I'm here," Molly said with a small laugh.

 

"I don't mind, if you don't," he said, turning briefly to look at her, his sharp gaze making her own eyes dart to the carpeted floors. He lead them up the stairs into one of the rooms, with one bed and desk besides a bathroom, or so she suspected it would look like, if it weren't covered in photographs - and maps - red thread connecting it all. Molly almost gaped at the scene, knowing well that if Mrs Meyer's knew he'd be thrown out, and she was about to comment when she was struck by her own photograph.

 

She remembered that picture being taken, Lucas was still alive, and she was smiling, her eyes practically glowing in it. There was only one lone thread connecting her to the case - the one to her sister's - she couldn't understand why he'd kept it up, but she knew why.

 

He soon stood before the wall, blocking her view of her own photograph, but she bit her tongue, keeping her comment in check.

 

 _"_ _Any man who loves an Adler woman dies."_ The faint smile on her face dropped an inch of two, and she almost felt like sitting down on his bed for support, but she knew it was better if she stood. She needed to tell him, she needed to make him leave, as she could still hear the beetle and its warning, clear and sound in her head.

 

Changing her name to Hooper hadn't helped her - - last names didn't matter in the end - - blood did, and no one could outrun their own destiny.

 

She saw  _his_  before her own eyes.

 

" _So_ ," he drawled after he'd shifted off his coat, pocketing his hands as he surveyed her, waiting. She knew he'd think she was mad, but maybe that was the way. He'd most likely leave if she did that, and this sacrifice was one she was willing to do for her sister, no question asked, or maybe - - just maybe - - she was scared, truly scared, like always.

 

"Umm, I - killed him," she said bluntly, getting it out of the way, her tone of voice bordering on cheerful, despite the serious topic, as was her way.

 

Sherlock blinked slowly at her in return, seemingly gathering himself by blinking repeatedly, until his eyebrows connected and he stared at her long and hard, uttering - "No."

 

She almost laughed at his downright refusal to listen to her. "I  _did_  - well - it was an accident - Irene had given him belladonna or well, I gave him belladonna, but too much of it - do you know what belladonna is?" she blurted out sounding silly, but she couldn't help that.

 

"Yes, I've worked with it," he said, his brows furrowed. "But I think you need to start from the beginning-,"

 

"No, just arrest me."

 

He stared.

 

"I don't arrest people. You know that-,"

 

"Then get Scotland Yard to do it," she said seriously, and she begun to pace the room, unable to hold still. "I'm a murderer."

 

"Not a very convincing murderer, Molly... Where's the body then?"

 

She stopped pacing. "In our garden," she said defiantly.

 

"Where the roses are growing?"

 

"You noticed?"

 

"Of course the earth is fresher - but your story still doesn't make sense."

 

"Why doesn't it make sense?"

 

"Your sister - she's afraid - and she doesn't strike me as a woman who scares easily," he said with a peculiar gleam in his eyes. "Which gives me reason to believe that James Moriarty is still alive, though I don't know who you've buried-,"

 

Molly couldn't help smile at that, "We  _have_ buried him... I know you've heard the stories, of what everyone's saying about us - the Adler women..."

 

"And we both know that isn't-,"

 

"No, we don't. I know what I am, Sherlock, and I need you to believe me," she crossed her arms over her chest. He would leave the minute she told him - his eyes were fixed elsewhere, distant and pensive. "Jim is dead, but he's not  _really_  dead - if that makes any sense?"

 

"...Not really dead?" he said gently.

 

"His spirit is haunting us because of what we did. You heard that voice in our garden, didn't you? ' _Did you miss me?' - -_ I know you did, and even if you don't want to-,"

 

His eyes snapped to her and he murmured, "I do believe you, that's what frightens me."

 

She felt that tightness in her chest expand, feeling so unbearably happy he believed her, but petrified that he did. She couldn't have him stay there.

 

"...Don't believe me," she said letting out a sigh with her words, eyes on the floor. "Just go back to London and don't come back."

 

"Why?"

 

She could hear the hurt in his voice from just one lone word, and she knew that if he died she would always blame herself. Molly wondered if she should lie to him, but she couldn't lie. "Like they've probably already told you - every Adler woman has survived her husband - so -,"

 

"I've no intention of marrying, and you've already been married-," he said like she expected him to say.

 

She almost snorted, but she sniffed instead. "I think it's best if you don't solve this one and go back to your friend John."

 

" - What if I'm not here about the case-," he said and when she looked up she saw he was moving closer, but she wasn't moving away from his grasp, his hand hovering near her cheek. She let his warm palm rest against her face, relishing the feeling of his skin against hers, of the small contact that made her insides tingle. " - What if the only reason I'm here is for - -  _you_?" he whispered, eyes full of emotion and she closed her own, not being able to stare into his, wanting, but forbidding herself.

 

She already knew his reason when she'd seen him, she hadn't needed to come there and see her photograph up on the wall to know.

 

No, she knew with a simple look, and opening her eyes again, she tried to see every inch of his face so she could remember him after he'd gone.

 

To remember how he felt, how he smelt - everything.

 

"Then please go... Please for me, don't stay. If you stay - I - you'll -," she couldn't go on, eyes prickling with tears, the ever present pain of the loss of Lucas still within her, and she couldn't have another death on her, not with someone she knew was a good man, a great man.

 

She didn't stop him when he leaned, when she felt the gentle brush of his lips against hers, and the hunger that came with it. One second it was innocent -light pecks that made her head feel dizzy and warm, until she felt him pull her closer, their bodies pressed against each other, his breath intermingled with hers. And she couldn't help letting him guide her to the bed, his hands fumbling over her jacket, over the thin flimsy fabric of her dress, but despite the alluring taste of him, of the warmth of him, she willed herself to draw away - for Irene, for her sister.

 

He looked dazed when she untangled herself from him, her cheeks still warm, as she said - "You will go - you will go or you don't lo-,"

 

He blinked up at her, "I  _do_ , which is why I wont."

 

"I know you do, and that's why you have to leave-," she said and with that she finally got out, heart pounding in her throat, her head hurting like she'd run for ages.

 

She would not let him be taken away from her.

 

No, she wouldn't.

 

 


End file.
